


End of an Era

by GettheSalt



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: An ode to Brett and Iain's chemistry, Atonement - Freeform, Forgiveness, Gen, Goodbyes, In b4 the finale is just pain and suffering, Reconciliation, Redemption, Wishful Thinking, final mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettheSalt/pseuds/GettheSalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have one shot to do this, to stop what Hive has planned for the planet. There isn't time for arguments, and there isn't time for making a new plan. Sometimes, the road to atonement, and being a hero, is found by taking the only option you have left. It doesn't mean you have to do it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of an Era

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try my hand at what I suspect will be the death in the finale. If it does end up being Fitz who dies, along with Hive being defeated, I would like to imagine they'd capitalize once more on the amazing chemistry that Brett and Iain have.
> 
> That and I'm a masochist who enjoys hurting myself and others with this sort of thing.

****

“ _Fitz, we will be right back!_ ”

That was what Daisy had said. Fitz had, quietly, in the back of his mind, been admiring her for how well she had been holding up. It seemed like a lot more time had passed than a couple of days, from when she had gotten back from being under Hive's sway. She had a long way to go – obviously – before she would be back to her true self, but, somehow, she had pulled together to lead the only two Secret Warriors she had left, and help their SHIELD team in defeating the deluded and megalomaniacal Inhuman.

It was impressive, what she was managing, but that was a thought that was restricted to the back of his mind. Fitz couldn't dwell on how impressed he was by Daisy. Not when this part of the mission depended on him.

Getting the warhead away from Hive had been Plan A. Plan B, should Plan A prove not entirely successful, was getting it away from the planet. Plan B had quickly come into play as the only plan that they had. The warhead had been successfully armed before they'd infiltrated Hive's facility, breaking through the lines of fully formed and scientifically-transformed Inhumans, and not a single one of them was trained enough in disarming it. Especially not when Hive had gotten someone, maybe that chain-wielding loudmouth, to damage the controls. They were contorted in ways that made them impossible to use.

They'd been left with only one choice, and, so far, that was going as smoothly as could be expected.

From what Fitz understood, May and Coulson had a group of swayed Inhumans pinned down. Mack and Elena had been covering another, and had called for back-up. Lincoln and Daisy, who had helped Fitz transport the warhead to the quinjet, had gone back to help them.

He had been left to override the quinjet's controls, and give it a very specific guiding. It was able to be put onto autopilot, and it was capable of being controlled from the base. Jemma was back there, on standby, should the autopilot fail.

There was no reason for it to fail. The quinjet was in nearly the same condition it had been when they had stolen it back, an event that felt like it had happened many years ago. The controls weren't in need of any tuning up, and the onboard guidance system was still functioning as expected. It would be nothing to give the small, quick plane directions, and send it on its way.

All he needed to do was program that in.

A sound behind him jolted Fitz from his focus and he turned, quick, going for the gun – a very real gun, with very real live rounds – that he was wearing on his hip. He hadn't bothered to close the quinjet's ramp, not yet, because he had been sure that he would be able to program the directions and get out of it to head to the rendezvous in no time. He had come a long, long way from feeling trapped by his brain damage, a long way since he'd doubted his abilities. There was no reason to think he couldn't have gotten Plan B in motion in no time.

They just hadn't factored in that any of the Inhuman groups would be able to slip away from the traps they had guided them into.

Much less that the thing wearing Grant Ward's smirking face would be able to slip away with them.

Fitz had heard Coulson over the comms saying they hadn't drawn Hive out yet.

He had heard Elena saying she was sure that he wouldn't be anywhere near them, as they were dealing with the Inhumans that were more goblin than anything, and it seemed doubtful Hive would leave his protection up to the likes of them.

He just hadn't imagined that Hive would come here, and that was the fatal flaw in his thinking. In all of their thinking, really, because it was evident neither Daisy nor Lincoln had suspected this move either. Not even Coulson, because if he had, he would have ordered one of them to stay with Fitz.

Now, with one gun, guarding the quinjet, and the warhead Hive had worked so hard to steal and arm, Fitz was left on his own.

“You know your chances are slim.” Hive said, hanging back, a few feet from the quinjet's ramp. Three of the Inhuman goblins were standing at the foot of it, looking up at Fitz with their creepy, sunken eyes, tracking his every movement. It would be simple to shoot at least two of them, now. Maybe it was Hive – with Ward's memories of a kinder, gentler Leo Fitz – that was keeping them from making a move, maybe it was their own choice. Fitz didn't know, and he didn't care to find out. Hive was still speaking, but he'd tuned him out, trying to work a way out of this, rather than let the voice of a someone who was once a friend dissuade him from attempting to carry out his side of the mission.

All Fitz could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, and the rush of his own breath, and then, louder than anything, the boom of the gun going off in his hands, and the sick, wet sound of the bullet going through the skin, bone and brain tissue of the Inhuman monster nearest him. It felt like time was going in slow motion, like they were all moving through molasses, as he swung the gun, eyes tracking from the gore flying from what had once been a human, to the next one. That one was bearing down on him, quick, and despite the second shot he got off – the bullet piercing through the muscles in its arm – it didn't stop. The gun was knocked from his hands, and everything came rushing back, all the noise, the speed, the pain of those abnormally strong hands gripping him tight, and then heaving him bodily from the quinjet, tossing his body down the ramp.

The other one was going for the quinjet's controls, Fitz saw while he struggled to hurry to his feet, and for a second, that confused him. Then he caught sight of Hive striding towards the warhead, and it all fell into place.

May had been their pilot, but Ward had known how to fly. He had known the Bus' controls, and he sure as hell knew the quinjet's. Hell, he had flown this exact one for them when they had been working to rescue Daisy. Ward's memories and skills would have been enough to let Hive guess at what it was they were doing.

And if those controls were destroyed, there would be no way to get the quinjet off the ground, except to manually fly it.

“No!”

He made a move, an attempt to dodge around the Inhuman bearing down on him, but even in its clearly degenerated state, it was quick, and it was on him in an instant, throwing him back from the quinjet. He hit the ground hard enough for it to knock the air out of his lungs, something hard digging into his back.

The gun.

Fitz could hear the sound of screeching metal, and he knew it was too late, but he wasn't about to give up. They could find another way, there was always another way. That was all he could think, rolling to the side to reach back and feel for the gun. The Inhuman was on him just as his fingers closed around it, one of its hands driving his head, and therefore his neck and torso, back towards the ground, trapping his arm, twisted, underneath him.

That hurt, but not nearly as much as it hurt when that arm was wretched out, and the gun was jerked from his fingers.

Fitz's other hand was preoccupied with pushing the Inhuman away, trying to get it off him. With the gun taken, he didn't even have time to make a fist before the hand on his face was pulled away, bright sunlight blinding him for a split second before his head exploded in pain.

He'd never been hit across the face with a gun before, but he had imagined what it would feel like. The jarring, splitting sensation of pain that shot from his temple to his jaw, rattling in every tooth, was worse than he had imagined.

Like most things he had imagined about being in the field.

It was hard to hear over the ringing in his ears, hard to focus over the pain pulsing behind his eyes. His hands were scrambling at the body above him, pushing, fighting, trying to get it off, trying to wound it in any way. He could feel that both of its hands were reaching for him, now. Where the gun had gone, he didn't know, but he couldn't imagine that it was within reaching distance.

Leo Fitz had never been ranked for much on his physical size. Overpowering an opponent both bigger and stronger than him was not something that he, or anyone else, expected of him, not when that opponent had the upper hand.

It didn't mean he wouldn't try. It didn't mean he wasn't fighting, tooth and nail, struggling under the weight pinning him down, to get loose, to get to the gun, to do _something_.

“You should give up.”

Hive voice was cutting through the ringing in his ears, as it faded. Sparing a split second glance, Fitz saw him, the smug prick, crouched not far away, the gun in one hand, something else in the other. He didn't get a good look before he was back to focusing on keeping the Inhuman's hands away from his neck.

“We destroyed it. It won't fly on its own. There's no remote guidance, there's no autopilot. It's useless to you now. It won't take the warhead away.”

The thing in Hive's hand had to be a crucial part of the quinjet's remote guidance computer. Fitz had no doubt that they had destroyed it; Ward, for all Fitz had once wished it, and now wished it again, wasn't stupid. He understood how the quinjet worked, in basic principle. Something that looked important would be easy for Hive to remove, knowing that.

“Give in. If you do, I'll make sure it's quick. Grant Ward was very fond of you. He wished things could have gone differently, for a very long time. He's done me quite the service, with his knowledge, and this body. I can pay him back in giving you the mercy of a quick and painless death.”

“Sod off.” Fitz grunted, punching the Inhuman dead in the nose. It didn't even flinch.

There was no easy way out of this, Fitz knew that. These things would keep coming until he was dead, and Hive was probably getting enjoyment out of watching him struggle. The warhead had been armed to go off in just over an hour, and Fitz had no way of accurately knowing how much time had passed since they'd gotten it away. He didn't estimate it had more than forty five minutes before it detonated.

There was no easy way out of this, not unless someone from the team arrived, and soon. His comm piece had been knocked out the second time he'd been thrown down. He couldn't even scream for help. It wouldn't do him any good.

There was no one who could come to his rescue, and he couldn't fight these Inhumans _and_ Hive off, alone.

Maybe it was madness, maybe it was the surge of stupidity that a last ditch attempt at living tended to bring with it.

Fitz didn't care. It was the only option he had left.

“If Ward is in there,” he grunted, struggling to keep the Inhuman from reaching his neck. He didn't want to go like that, suffocating to death. “He'd better be listening. He'd better – fucking hell, _Ward_ , you let me down before!” Fitz was yelling now, desperate. He couldn't see Hive anymore, couldn't spare a second to look around for him. “For Christ's sakes, Ward! Take the bloody chance I gave you! Take – _Ward_!”

It was useless to try.

The last time, Ward hadn't been able to break the hold of someone who was human, John Garrett. Not enough to spare him and Simmons, no matter what he'd claimed in Vault D.

How the hell was Ward supposed to break free of the Inhuman possessing him? The Inhuman that had complete control over his body?

It was impossible. It was useless to try.

It had been a long shot, and Fitz was losing this fight. The Inhuman on top of him rocked forward, and his arms gave out, hitting the ground as strong hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing, cutting off the air.

This was how he would go, and he hadn't been able to do a damn thing to stop it from happening. He could feel the blackness eating away at the edge of his consciousness, and wished he'd had the chance to properly say goodbye to Jemma. To tell Daisy she was the strongest person he knew. To thank the team for everything.

He would have to hope that they knew how much he'd cared for them. He'd have to hope that they succeeded where he failed.

The weight on top of him jerked, suddenly, and collapsed over him, the hands around his neck going weak, and Fitz gasped for breath, sucking it in, his greedy lungs feeling like they would never be calm again.

Dimly, he heard the sound of a shot, and he scrambled to push the body off him. It had to be Lincoln, or Daisy. They had to have come back.

Instead, the figure he saw standing over him, was Hive, with the gun in hand, pointed at the spot where Fitz assumed the last Inhuman had been standing. It was slumped at the bottom of the quinjet's ramp, now, a hole in its head.

Fitz couldn't speak, not yet, but if he'd been able to, the only words he would have gotten out would be “ _You're joking_.”

The eyes that landed on him were different than only minutes ago, and they were eyes that Fitz never thought he would be happy to see again.

The person standing over him wasn't Hive. Hive was, undoubtedly, still in there, but that was Grant Ward.

Dropping the gun, Ward moved to his side, pushing the Inhuman off him completely, and offering a hand. Fitz ignored it, getting to his feet on his own and jogged into the quinjet. The damage was as he'd feared. Any part of the remote guidance or autopilot controls that was important had been removed, and crushed. There was no way for the quinjet to fly on its own; it would need to be flown.

“It's manual-only now.” Ward said, behind him. “He destroyed it. Or, they. Listen, Fitz, I have control. I don't know how long, and--”

“--Shut up.” Fitz ordered, turning around, and pointing at the warhead. His throat hurt, and his voice was raspy, but he continued anyway. “That. You know bombs.”

Ward didn't argue, going to the crate holding the warhead immediately, and opening it up. His shoulders sagged almost immediately. Fitz knew that couldn't be good. The controls, he knew, were destroyed, but he'd still hoped that Ward, who had been the bomb expert on their team once upon a time, would be able to disarm it. “He had James go at it.” Ward explained. “Safeguarding. Against me, maybe...”

“So, there's no other way, then.”

Ward looked up, and nodded. “There isn't. If we want it gone--”

“--We?”

“Fitz. Please.” Ward held up his hands. “Please. We don't have time to hash out the past. I don't want this any more than you do, and I don't know... I don't know how long I can keep him down.”

Despite his misgivings, despite his hurt feelings, despite the fact that their past still stung, Fitz nodded. Ward was right. They didn't have time for this.

“I'm not letting you go alone.”

Ward's eyes widened, and the look on his face would have been comical in another time. “What? No, no, you're letting--”

“--I'm not.” Fitz stood his ground. “You just said yourself. You don't know how long you have control. What's stopping him from taking control once you've flown it out of here? Taking it somewhere else?” When Ward didn't argue, he nodded, firm. “Exactly. I'm going with you.”

“Fitz, you've already nearly died for my mistakes before.”

“Yeah, well.” Fitz shrugged, an angry, dismissive gesture. “I got even.”

“I'm not letting you do this.” Ward continued, shaking his head. Fitz moved, walking to retrieve the gun from where Ward had dropped it, and his comm piece from where it had fallen. “I can feel Hive. I can hold him off long enough. You got through, okay? I can do this.”

“I'm doing it with you.”

“Fitz!”

“Stop arguing!” Fitz hollered, feeling like his throat was being ripped up as he advanced up the ramp. “You can fly this bloody fucking thing, and I need to make sure you don't revert! You said it yourself. We don't have time to _argue_ , Ward!”

Ward had gone still, and, for a second, Fitz worried that he'd made him retreat. Caused him to give up enough consciousness that Hive had taken control again. It wouldn't be surprising. The thing was damn near impossible to beat, and even Grant Ward could fall against it.

When Ward opened his mouth and spoke, however, it was obvious he was still in control. “I'm not talking you out of this, am I?”

“Nope.” Fitz said, putting his comm piece back in before slapping the control to raise the quinjet's ramp.

“It's a suicide mission, Fitz.”

Fitz had his back to Ward, walking back to the head of the quinjet, dropping into the copilot's chair. “So was our first solo mission.” He called back. “Only difference is that we know what we're getting into, this time.”

It hurt, to bring up their past like that. Remembering a time when things had been easier between them, when they had been able to work together and become a real two-man team. He'd promised Ward then that he would look out for him. Ward had gone on about protecting him. They had both broken the promises they'd made on a suicide mission, all on their own.

It just seemed right that they had ended up here.

Ward didn't say another word, as he got into the pilot's chair, and started up the quinjet. It was better that way.

“Jemma?” Fitz said, tapping his comm.

“Oh, thank God.” She said over the connection, breathing an obvious sigh of relief. When she spoke next, however, he could hear the tremor in her voice. “You've gotten the quinjet off, then?”

Fitz didn't have it in him to point out that he knew that she could see, on the tracking, that he hadn't. “No, Jemma.”

“Fitz, what's going on?” Coulson cut in.

“Hive attacked.” Fitz explained. “He destroyed the remote guidance, and autopilot.”

“God _dammit_. What're our options? Can we disarm that--”

“--Sir.” Fitz interrupted. “Ward and I are taking it.”

The silence that answered him was so complete that, for a second, Fitz was sure that the rate the quinjet was ascending at had knocked their communications out. He was pressed back in the chair, the gun in one hand, the fingers of the other gripping the chair tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Ward's were the same, on the controls, as they rocketed through the clouds. The quinjet was an engineering marvel, and they were safe inside it, but it didn't mean everything would hold for the comms as they pushed through the atmosphere.

It was Mack's voice that came through first. “Ward?”

“It's hard to explain.” Fitz answered quickly, glad to hear from them. “I got through. You all know this is the only option.”

“You and your bloody _only options_!” Jemma yelled across the connection, her voice so shrill the line crackled. “It isn't!”

“Jemma.”

“No!”

“He can fly it. I need to be here to make sure he doesn't revert. We were running out of time and you're all held up.”

“No, Fitz, we can come back, we're coming back right--”

“--Daisy.”

Ward glanced over at the name.

“We're already in the air. I don't know how much longer this connection will last.”

“You're a bigger hero than any of us could hope to be.” Coulson said, finally. “I wish there was another way, but I know, Fitz... I know you're right. There's only one shot to save everyone, and this is it.”

Fitz blinked, hard, feeling the slide of tears over his cheeks. Ward was keeping his eyes forward, now, giving him the only privacy he could.

“This is it.” Fitz agreed. “I wanted to thank you. All of you. For everything that we've been through. For being there.” He swallowed, hard. “Give Lance and Bobbi my best.”

“We will.” May said, and Fitz couldn't help but hear the tightness in her voice.

“Jemma. I love you.”

Jemma's voice was thick, shaky. It was obvious she was sobbing when she replied, “I love you, too.”

Fitz reached up, swiping at his cheeks. He could see what was coming, and it both amazed and terrified him. It may have been the same view as Tony Stark had glimpsed when he shot through the wormhole during the Battle of New York. Stars, endless stars, and deep midnight as far as the eye could see.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Agent Fitz?”

“I need you to know.” Fitz glanced Ward's way, and the former agent looked back. “Ward made the decision to do this. This last good thing.”

There was a long silence, and then Coulson spoke again. “I understand.”

“Good.” Fitz said, firmly. “You all have my love.”

There were murmurs of love, of thank yous, and then the line went dead, in the same instant that Fitz felt the true weightlessness that could only be associated with space. Something glinted in his peripheral vision and he turned, only to laugh, quietly, at the sight of Yoyo's golden cross floating up from where she'd hung it on the side of the cockpit. Mack had handed it back, and it had passed around, before she'd chosen to leave it on the quinjet, the vehicle of their last plan to defeat Hive.

“You're bleeding.”

Turning back to Ward, Fitz saw the way he was looking him over, concern obvious in his eyes. It had been so long since he'd seen that look and believed it, but, somehow, in accepting how things had come to be, Fitz couldn't feel any malice or hatred, or distrust, towards Ward. “Hm?”

“Your eye.” Ward said, gesturing. He was buckled in, but Fitz could tell, when he moved, and ended up rocking slightly in place, that he was floating up off his seat as much as Fitz himself. “Where you got pistol-whipped.”

Fitz reached up, wincing when he touched the spot, his fingers finding a hot, wet patch.

“Well, don't touch it!” Ward said, reaching out to grab his wrist, and Fitz smiled in spite of himself.

“Not like it's going to do much damage now.” He said, shaking his hand, and watching the way the blood flew off in droplets, suspended in midair, floating in the same way the cross was. “Right?”

Ward settled back in his seat. “Ah... right.”

Fitz nodded, and turned back to the window, staring out at the expanse of space. Ward had killed the engine – or it had killed itself – and the quinjet was floating aimlessly, a safe distance away from Earth. It was almost peaceful, knowing that they would go, here, up in the vacuum of space. Fitz was almost surprised to find that he was at peace with the fact that Ward was the one at his side. It was a curious side effect of knowing you were sacrificing yourself for the greater good. There was no more animosity. The hatred slid off him like water, leaving him feeling light in a way he hadn't in so, so long.

They kept their silence for a long time, neither moving a move to start a conversation. Fitz's head was throbbing, and his throat still felt torn up, but he was comfortable.

Comfortable enough, finally, to talk.

“I know it won't mean much, because... We're waiting for death,” he began. “But I wanted you to know, I forgive you. And... I have a few more confessions to make.”

“You don't have to forgive me, Fitz. That's not why I'm doing this.”

“I know that.” Fitz said, looking over at Ward. Still buckled in, it was easy to lean against the back of the seat, and look his way. “Can you please listen?” When Ward nodded, he took a breath, to continue. “I forgive you for what you did to me. I understand, and I have for a long time, that you really thought you were doing the lesser of two evils. The med pod should have floated. It didn't, and I've never worked out why. Mechanical malfunction, or something.” Pausing for a second, he searched Ward's face, careful to make sure he was still there. “You didn't mean to do what you did, to me, or what you could have done. I know. And I need to apologise.”

This one was harder. It wasn't anything that Ward knew about, and he didn't need to voice it, but Fitz felt that it would be better if he did. “I shouldn't have stood there and let Coulson do what he did. We should have taken you into custody. Done... something. I was angry, when I found out what had come back, and I said... Well, I said you'd deserved it.” Fitz shook his head. “I didn't even believe that, then. You deserved a fair trial. A chance to be treated like any other prisoner. I'm sorry we didn't.”

“You didn't even know, Fitz.” Ward said. “That I was down there. You don't need to apologise for this. I've been angry. I've been...” Fitz looked over at Ward again. The other man was looking at his hands, clean and stark against the dark green of Hive's coat. He almost looked like he was searching for the right words. “I'm half the man I wanted to be. You know, when I was a kid? I had this idea of who I would grow up to be. I was going to be a hero, and when Garrett recruited me, he made it sound like I could be. All those years, he trained me, and groomed me, and convinced me I was joining SHIELD, just to turn it on its head and tell me it was really HYDRA. That SHIELD wasn't what it was presented as. And I believed it. I let him turn me into something he needed, and I... Coulson didn't do me any _favours_.” He looked at Fitz here, and Fitz surprised himself in nodding. “I was so angry. I've always been. I think the staff made it worse. Remember that thing?”

Fitz made a quiet sound of asset. “The Berzerker staff.”

“That's the one.” Ward agreed. “Well... The point is, I made a lot of mistakes. This isn't the man I'd hoped to be by now.” He laughed, but it was humourless. “Not that I made it to 33.”

Fitz was quiet, thinking things over. Ward didn't interrupt, and didn't push, only waited, while he got his thoughts together.  
“I think you should be proud.” Fitz started. “Of the man you are, right now, right this second. You're... making amends. It's not the way you want, I know. It's not the way I want, either, if I'm honest. Sometimes I still – or, I _would_ still – think about how different things would have been if we had changed just a few little things. If we'd brought Dr. Garner in, for _all_ of us, earlier on.”

“I think the good doctor could've helped everything a whole lot.” Ward agreed, quietly.

Fitz nodded. “But... You're choosing to sacrifice, for the greater good. For all these people. You're siding with the people who... who you wronged.” He looked up, meeting Ward's eyes firmly. “Who, admittedly, wronged you.”

Ward nodded, glancing out the window. The quinjet had turned, and they could see Earth, blue and green and white, in all her glory. It was a beautiful sight, and Fitz swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“What's this?”

Looking over again, he saw Ward eying the cross as it drifted around the cockpit. His blood was still hanging in the air, and more, from the ramp, where the Inhumans had bled.

“It belonged to one of ours. Elena. She's an Inhuman. It was supposed to keep us safe.”

Ward smiled slightly. “That was my job, once.” He said, looking over at Fitz. “Keeping you all safe.”

“I don't think we need to dwell on that, now, Grant.” Fitz answered, softly. “I think we can safely just... put that in the past, where it belongs. Seems like the right thing to do.”

“Yeah.” Ward agreed, looking back out the window. The silence between them descended again, but easier this time. Fitz released his hold on the gun, letting it drift away. Even if Hive returned, now, there was no way for his plan to come to fruition. Fitz could hear the beeping in the background, counting down the final five minutes before detonation.

“You always were a better SHIELD agent than me.” Ward said, quietly, calling back to their first mission, just like Fitz had before. Fitz vividly remembered the moment he was thinking of; him standing up to Ward and saying he was every bit the SHIELD agent that Ward was. Thinking of it now, Fitz smiled.

“You're making up for that.” He replied, just as quiet. “Trust me.”

The beeping in the background got louder, more frantic, and Fitz took a deep, shaky breath, before reaching over to pat Ward, firmly, on the back. The other startled a second, turning to look at him, his eyes betraying shock, before a wide, genuine smile spread across his face.

Fitz returned it.

“I think that's our cue.”

He kept his hand outstretched in the space between them, the look on his face meaningful. Ward, for his part, hesitated, before reaching out and taking it, slow. Fitz curled his fingers around Ward's hand, confident and sure, and nodded.

The only sound for what felt like an hour, but was really no more than a minute, was their breathing, and the louder, and louder beeping of the warhead. Fitz could feel the tears on his cheeks, adjusting his grip to squeeze Ward's hand back, just as hard as Ward was squeezing his. Now, at the end of an era, the end of everything, that touch was his only comfort, and he was glad for it.

“I think.” Fitz sniffed, willing his voice to hold. “I think you and I could have been something great.”

“I think you're right.” Ward said, his voice sounding just as unsteady as Fitz was sure his own did. “Maybe in the next life, huh?”

Fitz looked over, finding Ward watching him, and smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

He had only seen Ward emotional to the point of tears once before, when he'd been stuck in the after-effects of the Bezerker staff. Now, Ward wasn't holding up the charade, wasn't clinging to the image of the hardened man. Ward was more human in this moment than Fitz had thought him to be in a very, very long time.

And he wished they had longer.

Gripping Ward's hand tight, he whispered. “Goodbye, Grant Ward.”

Ward made a sound that Fitz suspected was a small laugh. “Goodbye, Leo Fitz.”

Fitz counted seven more loud, high pitched, mocking beeps, seven more seconds on their clock.

And then everything went black.

 

 

 


End file.
